Trade Secrets
by Halcris
Summary: A message, carried by someone who is killed before he can deliver it, is very puzzling.


**Trade Secrets**.

Willie Mills, in his shabby overcoat and cap, moved quickly along one of the dingier streets of Kilburn. From time to time he glanced furtively over his shoulder, as if he feared being followed. Seeing no-one, he hurried on, satisfied.

But he was being followed, by two men who were very good at it.

Willie Mills was very well known to both the police and C.I.5. Being called by the alternative nicknames of 'Wily Willie' or 'Willie the Weasel', he was a small, cringing, insignificant, little ferret of a man. Having neither the wit nor the nerve, he wasn't actively a criminal. But because of his ability to be stealthy and inconspicuous, he was frequently used as a 'gopher' by many members of the criminal fraternity. Not trustworthy enough to be a 'mule', a drugs carrier, he was often used to convey secret information or instructions from one crook to another.

And so both police and C.I.5 kept an eye on him, hoping he would give them leads to much bigger fish.

He was on a job now for one such group. He had instructions to go to a certain boarding-house, to seek out a Mr. Rowse, and to hand him personally the message he was carrying. He was getting close to his designated destination now. He took one last furtive look behind him, and slipped in through the door of the dingy building.

The man on the desk was talking to a gaudily-dressed woman, who it seemed was also asking for Mr. Rowse. "It's room 7, madam," he was saying, "but I think he's out."

Willie listened carefully as the man went on. "I'll call the room now," he said. He did so, and waited, but got no response.

"Oh, well," said the woman, rather crossly, "I'll have to come back later." She turned and left, as the receptionist put the receiver down. He then looked for the little man who had followed her in, to see what he wanted, only to find he was no longer there. Where had he gone ? He hadn't noticed him leave !

Then two more men came in, one tall and thick-set, the other slighter and curly-haired.

"The little man who just came in here ?," queried the bigger man. "Where did he go ?."

"I don't know," answered the puzzled receptionist. "He was here, while I was calling Mr. Rowse's room. But he wasn't in. I told the lady that and she left. I looked round for the man, but he'd disappeared."

Bodie and Doyle were puzzled too. They'd seen the woman leave and walk away, but they were sure Willie hadn't come out.

Suddenly there was a sound, a sharp sound from somewhere up above.

The two C.I.5 men were experienced enough to know exactly what the sound was – a gun-shot !

With one accord they dashed for the stairs, and charged upwards, towards the first landing. At the far end of the corridor, a window stood wide open, its curtain flapping in the strong draught sweeping in.

But Bodie's and Doyle's attention was riveted on something else, - a sprawled figure in the open doorway of No.7

As Doyle knelt to stretch out a hand towards the body, seeking for a pulse, Bodie shot along to the open window. But the sound of a motor-bike revving away told him he was too late to attempt pursuit, so he hurried back to his mate. Doyle, with a negative shake of his head in response to Bodie's enquiring look, was turning the body over and going through the pockets.

"Who'd want to shoot 'Wily Willie' ?," asked Bodie, with some disbelief in his voice. "He's a nobody !" He stepped over the body, and carefully checked the room beyond. It was empty, as he had expected.

By this time the receptionist had joined them, looking with some disquiet at the scene before him. "I've called the police," he said. "They're sending someone round."

Heads were poking out of doors all along the corridor.

Doyle shot a look at Bodie, and mouthed a question at him. 'Do we need to stay ?' Quickly picking up this thought, Bodie shook his head, and the pair of them beat a quick retreat. The police could do all the necessary work on this, and Cowley would get a report sent to him in due course.

They set off, walking briskly back to where they had left their car. They put in a quick call to Headquarters, explaining to their boss why their shadowing of Willie had come to a sudden halt.

"Right," said Cowley, "come back to base now, and start some enquiries going about this Mr. Rowse. It looks as if Willie was going to see him, and somehow got shot for his pains."

Doyle started the car and they set off. They hadn't been going for long, when he suddenly said, "I've just had a thought."

Bodie reached out and patted the top of his mate's curly head. "Nurture it, lad," he said teasingly. "It must be lonely in there."

Doyle batted the hand away. "Give over, you wally," he said, "I'm serious."

"Tell me then," replied Bodie.

"Well," began Doyle, "We've sort of assumed that because it was Rowse's room, and he's missing, that he shot Willie. But suppose it was someone else in the room, someone waiting for Rowse to come back, maybe someone who didn't know Rowse by sight…."

"And Willie was shot by mistake," exclaimed Bodie, following his friend's train of thought, "Now, that's a possibility, isn't it ?"

When they reached Headquarters, they hurried up to Cowley's office, and put their speculative ideas to him. He considered thoughtfully what he'd heard.

"It does make some sense," he conceded at last. "Willie was only ever an insignificant messenger-boy. But if he was going to see Rowse, it means he was probably a crook of some sort. So we need to find out more about him. Get going on that." As the pair were about to leave the office, Doyle suddenly remembered and turned back.

"Willie had nothing in his pockets," he said, "Except this." He handed Cowley a crumpled brown envelope.

The three of them gazed at the sheet of paper that Cowley had extracted. It consisted of a list of items comprising apparently random numbers and letters. Right at the bottom was a line that read. 'Pick-up Friday week, 7.30 pm. Usual place.'

"Now what does all that mean ?,"asked Bodie.

"Search me," said Doyle. "It's a bit of a mystery, isn't it ?"

"I'll get some experts onto it," said Cowley, equally as puzzled as his men. "You get on with investigating Rowse."

Their first port of call was the Records office, followed by a visit to the computer room, but entering the name Rowse brought no results in either place. As they made their way down to their cars, preparatory to making some enquiries among their many contacts, Bodie noticed a thoughtful look on his mate's face.

"Had another idea ?," he asked cheekily.

"No," said Doyle slowly, "It's Rowse. I don't think I've ever encountered a man with that name, but there is something niggling at the back of my mind, and I can't pin it down."

"Let it go," advised Bodie. "That usually works for me. Just let it go, and then it suddenly sorts itself out when you're thinking of something else."

Doyle took his mate's advice on board, and the pair set to with a will, making enquiries among their many contacts. But to no avail. No-one they spoke to either could or would, tell them anything about a man called Rowse.

The 'niggle' continued to haunt Doyle, and disturbed his sleep, as he struggled to bring it to the front of his mind. It was about 3 o'clock in the morning, when it suddenly began to clear. He sat up in bed, and tried to grab hold of the elusive thought.

"It was on a list," he said aloud. "I saw the name Rowse on a list ! But which list and where ?" he questioned his usually accurate memory.

He lay down again and tried to relax, following Bodie's advice to just let it come of its own accord. He must have dozed off again, for the next time he woke up, and looked at his bedside clock it was 6.30 am.

But his memory was clearing, he was pleased to realise. Some time ago he had been incapacitated with a broken leg, the result of a freak accident. During his recovery period, he had spent a lot of time reading up old records. That's where I saw the name, he told himself. It was on a list of aliases, attached to information about a villain who was on the books. But which one ? That still hadn't come !

He got up, showered, dressed, and grabbed a quick coffee and a bite of breakfast, before setting off for Headquarters. There's nothing else for it, he had decided. I must just re-read what I was looking at till I find it.

So it was that Bodie, coming in at his usual time, was told that his mate had been in for ages, and was busy looking at stuff in Records. Bodie made his way there, and was just in time to hear his mate's jubilant shout of 'Eureka'. Meeting his partner's questioning look, Doyle explained.

"The name Rowse bothered me. I knew I'd seen it on a list somewhere, so I had to find that list. And I have, at last."

He waved the paper he'd found "Names of aliases often used by a man called Foster, Albert Foster. I just about remember him from my police days. He was a nasty piece of work, into all sorts of villainy. I never actually worked on his case, but I think they caught him at last on some drugs charge, and he went to prison."

"How long ago ?," asked Bodie.

"Oh, five or six years," replied Doyle.

"Then he could be out," suggested Bodie.

"I suppose he might be," agreed Doyle. "Let's check that."

They did just that, and found that Foster had been released a month ago. So, armed with Foster's file, and a photograph, they reported to their boss.

"Interesting," commented Cowley, "and worth following up, though we haven't anything definite on him at the moment. We don't know whether he's the killer, or the intended victim, do we ?."

"He 'grassed' a lot of people when he was sent down," said Doyle, "So he could have enemies out to get him."

"Well, that gives you some work to do," said Cowley, briskly dismissing them.

"Where do we start ?," Bodie asked his mate, as they left the office.

"First," said Doyle, "we take a picture to that dump of an hotel, to see if it was him staying there." Bodie nodded agreement. That made sense. "Then on to Police Records. I don't think Rowse shot Willie. Just out of prison, he'd be cautious about what he was up to. No, I think there was a contract out on him, and Willie got shot by mistake."

"I agree," said Bodie. "So we need to find out who he ratted on, who might hate him enough to want him dead."

They revisited the dingy little place in Kilburn, and showed the picture to the girl receptionist now on duty.

"Yes," she said, "That's Mr. Rowse, though his hair's a bit greyer than that. He came about two weeks ago. Do you know where he is ? The manager would like to know, for he left without paying his bill."

"We're looking for him too," said Bodie. Then he had a thought. "He didn't have a motor-bike, did he ?," he asked ,thinking of the one he had heard revving away.

"Oh no," said the girl, "Nor a car either. First day he was here, he asked about buses, and the nearest Underground."

The pair returned to the car to consider their next move.

"Now," said Doyle, "we find Foster's friends and enemies. Enemies, to speculate on who'd put out a contract on him, and friends, to try to find out if he's working with any of their activities."

"Right," agreed Bodie, "Might give us a clue as to what that peculiar list was all about."

The next day was spent on extensive enquiries with various contacts, - without a great deal of success. Bodie and Doyle were on their way back to Headquarters, not very pleased with their day's efforts, for nothing of significance had come of any of their enquiries.

Suddenly, Doyle tapped his mate's arm. "Turn in here," he said.

Bodie did so, protesting vociferously as he drove into the empty car-park, alongside the shabby little pub, which rejoiced in the name of 'The Three Bells." "It's out of hours. They're closed," he complained.

"I know," said Doyle, "but I've been looking for Joe Potter. The landlady here might know, - she's his sister."

Bodie parked the car neatly, and Doyle got out. He tossed a newspaper to his friend. "Here, pick us a winner," he said cheekily. "I won't be long."

He disappeared round the corner of the building towards the back door, which gave onto the living-quarters part of the building.

Doyle spent a few minutes talking to the landlady of the Three Bells. She was friendly and prepared to be helpful, but hadn't seen her brother for some while. She did give him a couple of suggestions of places to try. "Thank you, Betty," said Doyle and left.

He came round the corner back to the car, and was very surprised to see that Bodie wasn't there, - the car was empty !

As he bent down to peer into it, he was suddenly aware of movement behind him. He swung round quickly to find himself facing a man in chauffeur's uniform, holding an evil-looking pistol ! Doyle lifted his hands placatingly.

"Over there," ordered the man, pointing over Doyle's shoulder.

Doyle turned to look, and saw that there was a big black car parked on the other side of the space, hardly noticeable in the dark shadow cast by the tall block of flats adjacent to the pub car-park. He was directed to the front passenger side door.

"Get in !," ordered the chauffeur, and with the menace of the gun to consider, Doyle obeyed the instruction.

It was difficult to see clearly into the dark interior, but he caught a quick glimpse of Bodie sitting in the back, and was alarmed to see that his mate's hands were tied, and a knotted scarf was serving as a gag.

Beyond him was the shape of a man, but he couldn't see him clearly as he was leaning back into the shadows. But he heard him all right, when a harsh voice, with a strong trace of an accent, issued orders.

"Sit down, face the front and listen," it commanded.

Doyle complied, sinking into the passenger seat and facing forward as he was told. He had to play this very cautiously, he could tell, if he were to help his partner.

The hard voice came again. "You have something I want," said the man, "and as you saw, I have something I expect you would like back. So we are in a good position to trade, are we not ?"

"What do you want ?," asked Doyle, more calmly than he felt. The answer was somewhat of a surprise.

"Willie Mills was carrying a message. Its contents are important to me. You will go now and get it."

Doyle concealed his amazement at this request. The voice from behind him continued. "You will be back here with it, alone, within two hours, and then I shall return your man to you unharmed. Fail, and both you and he will be sorry !"

The chauffeur, who had remained standing by the door with his gun steadily trained, reached in and hauled Doyle out. Swinging him round, he gave him a violent push, which sent Doyle sprawling on the tarmac beside his own car. As he scrambled to his feet, the black car, with the chauffeur now at the wheel, swung round the car park, and came towards him, He had to move quickly out of the way, and watched helplessly as it shot swiftly out onto the road and sped away.

Doyle scrambled quickly back into his car, and started it up. It would be useless, and dangerous to Bodie, to attempt to pursue the black car, so he turned instead in the direction that would take him back to Headquarters. As he went, with as much speed as was safe, he reached for the car-radio, and demanded urgently to be put through to his boss. When Cowley came on the line, he quickly and succinctly explained it all to him.

"How far away are you ?," Cowley asked.

"E.T.A. approximately ten minutes," responded Doyle.

"Good," said Cowley. "Come straight up to the office."

Doyle did that, and entered to find his boss with the crumpled envelope and slip of paper Willie had been carrying already in his hand. He handed it over to Doyle. "It might be a good move to let them have it," he said. "We've got plenty of copies, and it might provoke some action that would give us an idea as to what it's all about."

Not to mention saving Bodie's life, thought Doyle to himself. Sometimes Cowley could be very callous, giving only an eye to the main chance, and not his men's safety. In actual fact, he was doing his boss an injustice. Cowley cared a lot about his operatives, but had learned from years of experience to conceal his feelings. Of course, he'd agreed to what would save Bodie. He had no option there, but if something interesting came out of it, it would be a bonus. In addition, Cowley knew very well that this man in front of him, would do anything he needed to, to ensure his mate came out of this unscathed.

"Did you get a number-plate of the car ?," asked Cowley.

"No," admitted Doyle. "I did try, but I think it was blacked out."

"Illegal," commented Cowley.

Doyle tucked the envelope safely into an inside pocket, and went back to his car. He had plenty of time, so he drove back to The Three Bells at a reasonable pace. He turned into the little car-park, turned the car round, and parked in the same place as before, but pointing towards the street this time. It was a slight precaution in case he needed to exit quickly. He looked round. His was the only vehicle there. The big black car was not back yet !.

The waiting seemed interminable. But just before the two hours was up, the big black car swept in, did a wide loop, and came to rest parallel to his, about three yards away. Doyle eased himself out of his seat, and stood behind his car. He held the vital envelope up so that it could be seen. He gazed warily at the car opposite. Would they keep their part of the bargain ?

The chauffeur got out of the big car, still brandishing his gun, and walked across the space to collect the envelope from him. He took it round to the far side of the black vehicle, and handed it in to the man sitting in the back.

Doyle moved forward. "Where's Bodie ?," he demanded.

The hidden passenger was evidently satisfied with what he had been given, for suddenly the back passenger door was pulled open by the burly chauffeur. He yanked Bodie out, and gave him a fierce shove which sent him cannoning into Doyle, who clutched at his mate quickly to prevent them both falling over.

The driver was now back in his place, but as Doyle glanced towards him he saw that his arm was out of the window, pointing the gun. Quickly he pushed his still bound partner round the back of the car, pulling them both down behind it. But the man wasn't aiming at them. His shot neatly took out the front tyre of Doyle's car, ensuring that there would be no pursuit. The black car was moving now, and swept away out of the car-park.

Doyle helped his friend back to his feet, pulling out his trusty little knife as he did so. It made short work of the ties round Bodie's wrists. As soon as his hands were free, Bodie reached up to pull the gag from his mouth.

"Well, that was a fun afternoon, wasn't it ?," he said jokingly.

"Are you all right, mate ?," asked Doyle anxiously.

"I'm fine, sunshine," replied Bodie cheerfully. "Just a bit stiff."

Changing the wheel didn't take them long, and soon they were on their way back to Headquarters. They made their way straight up to Cowley's office. His quick glance over the pair re-assured him that both were all right, so he got straight down to business.

"Can you tell us anything about the man who was holding you ?," he asked.

"Not a lot ," admitted Bodie. "He's big, dark, Italian-looking. Wears a very expensive suit, and heavy gold jewellery. He didn't talk much, but he has an accent. He had a call on his car-phone, but he mainly only said "Si" several times.

The other two listened intently, trying to build up a picture of the man who had abducted Bodie, and exchanged him for the message Willie had been carrying. It was no-one they recognised as already known to them.

"There was one phrase I caught," said Bodie suddenly. "Venerdi prossimo, something like that."

"Next Friday !," exclaimed Doyle and Cowley in unison.

"The words on the note," added Doyle. "So he already knows something about what's going on."

"I wish we did," said Bodie vehemently. "Any joy from the experts about those letters and numbers ?."

"Not yet," admitted Cowley. "They're still working on them."

"If we don't find out soon," said Doyle thoughtfully. "We're going to have 'gang warfare' on our hands."

"How do you make that out ?," queried Bodie.

"Well, just think," said Doyle. "Who know what that list means ? The people who sent it, and your Italian friend."

"No friend of mine," protested Bodie, but Doyle ignored the interruption.

"Now, he wasn't meant to have it," continued his partner, "or he wouldn't have had to get it the way he did."

"True," said Cowley, who had been listening carefully. "So now we've got two lots of people after the same thing !."

"That's it," said Doyle, "and both pretty ruthless, I would imagine."

"I'll get on to those experts again," said Cowley. "We need an answer !."

Doyle and Bodie spent the next day still trying to get a lead on the man calling himself Rowse, but although they tried his real name and all of the many aliases he liked to use, they drew a blank, and had to give up on the task. They also tried for information about Bodie's abductor, but got nowhere with that either.

"Well," said Doyle, as they returned to base feeling rather disgruntled after what felt like a wasted day, "Either Rowse did shoot Willie, and he's cleared off, or he's realised he was the target, and has gone to ground."

"Not helpful at all," commented Bodie, equally disappointed. He was essentially an 'action' man, and hated painstaking leg-work, especially when it didn't achieve anything. They cheered themselves up with a good night out together, with a couple of girls who were pleasing and undemanding company.

The next morning, however, brought better news. As they entered the building together, the doorman passed on the message that they were to go straight to Cowley's office. So they hurried up the stairs, tapped on the door, and went in. Their boss was looking very pleased, and waved a sheaf of papers at them.

"Progress at last," he reported cheerfully. "First, your Italian friend, Bodie. Came in about two weeks ago, from Italy. – one Franco Montalbi. Nothing known against him in this country, but very well known in Milan, where he lives the high life, with extreme doubts about how he funds it."

"Mafia ?," queried Doyle.

"Undoubtedly," confirmed Cowley, "with plenty of contacts here, to give him all the backing he needs." "But even better," he went on, "they've finally worked out what the message is about."

"Great," said Doyle. "Now maybe we'll get somewhere."

"If you recall," said Cowley, "it was a list of groups of letters and numbers. They seemed pretty random, and didn't follow any sort of pattern. Then someone had an idea about the first one. They followed it up with the others and found they could correlate them all."

"Well, what do they mean ?," asked Bodie, impatiently.

Cowley looked pleased, almost triumphant, as he explained. "The letters are the initials of cargo ships coming into London docks this coming week. The first one or two numbers indicate which berths they are booked into, and the remaining numbers…"

"Could be stencilled on crates," interrupted Bodie excitedly.

"We think so," agreed Cowley. "Now, take the first one on the list. S.L. stands for Southern Lily, 12 is the berth she was due into, and we hope 754 is on the crate they're interested in. We were only just in time. The Southern Lily docked this morning, and unloading has started. We have managed to get a man there, posing as a stevedore, and he's keeping an eye open for the crate. It was a bit short notice, but I'm hoping he'll report some success."

"The others ?," queried Doyle.

Cowley consulted his list "The Amoco Cadiz and the Costa Allegra aren't due in till late tomorrow. We're hoping to get men on those too, this time with 'bugs' which they'll try to plant on the crates, so we know where they go."

Just then the phone rang on Cowley's desk. He picked up the receiver and listened intently. "Good work, Sadler," he said, looking very pleased as he ended the call. He turned to the listening pair, waiting expectantly. "That was our man on the Southern Lily," he said. "He spotted the number 754 on a crate, but it wasn't one he was working on. But he did watch it, and saw it loaded onto a fork-lift which seemed to have been waiting for it, and only took that one. It didn't go into the main warehouse, but shot off along the dock, towards the far end, where there a lot of small private warehouses."

"Now we're getting somewhere," said Bodie, in a satisfied tone.

"We can't do anything more yet," said Cowley, "until the next two ships are in, and we hear if the 'bugs' have been planted successfully.

Bodie and Doyle had to be patient for a couple of days therefore, but there was always plenty of other work to keep them busy. But they were looking forward to the next report. When it came, it was very satisfactory. Both men had managed to plant their tracking devices on the appropriate crates. These had been discretely monitored from a distance, and both had led to a small warehouse at the far end of the docks.

Cowley relayed the news to Bodie and Doyle. "Now there's something you can do," he said. "These warehouses are mostly owned by large companies, who lease them out, some on permanent leases. You can find out who has rented this particular one. But do it discretely. We don't want to alert anyone, for we won't take any action until all the ships on the list have docked and unloaded."

Bodie and Doyle got onto it with enthusiasm. Armed with official-looking clipboards, they claimed to be doing a survey on whether warehouses were being used to their full capacity. To maintain their cover, they visited several other firms before calling on the one that owned the building they were interested in. They entered the office of the company in question, and found a young, blonde, girl receptionist, looking rather bored. She brightened considerably when the pair walked in. It wasn't often that her usual dull days of typing, filing and answering the phone were enlivened by such attractive visitors. To keep their company as long as possible she became very chatty and eager to supply them with all the information she could.

"We own six large warehouses and two smaller ones," she volunteered. "The big ones are always in use. They're on long-term leases, some of them for the last several years and more."

"What about the smaller ones ?," asked Bodie, for it was one of them they were interested in.

"Well, they are not so much in demand," she admitted, "and they're usually hired for short terms only, and sometimes they stand empty for a while."

"What about this one ?," asked Doyle, indicating one on his list.

"Oh that's in use now," said the girl. "A chap came in a fortnight ago, and booked it for two months. The other one's empty."

"Doyle had an intuitive thought. He fished a picture from his pocket. "Was it this man ?," he asked, trying to make it sound a casual question.

"I can't really remember," she said doubtfully. "It could have been him. He was called Mr. Franks, I think."

Doyle exchanged a telling glance with Bodie. That name had been on the list of aliases, and as his partner had seen, the picture was that of Rowse.

They thanked her for her help, and left, their smiles having quite made her day. They reported in and told Cowley what they had learned.

"Well, at least we know Rowse is involved in this," said Bodie.

"It's very frustrating that we can't find him," added Doyle. "Until we do, we won't know who he's working for."

"That should be revealed when they come to pick up the crates on Friday," said Cowley. "I'm working on contingency plans for a reception then."

He'd also been busy on other arrangements. Using his many contacts, and pulling a few strings, he had found and set up a stake-out, in a room at the top of the warehouse opposite the one they were interested in. A 24-hour watch was being maintained there, and it was duly reported that two more crates had been delivered by the man with the fork-lift, the driver evidently having the key to the large padlock securing the door.

Late on Thursday afternoon, Bodie and Doyle were with Cowley in his office, reading through these reports. "That only leaves one more ship," Cowley told them. "The Gudrun Maersk, due in early tomorrow."

"We still don't know what's in these crates," mused Bodie. "It might help if we did, don't you think ?"

"We could sneak in tonight, and find out," suggested Doyle.

Cowley looked dubious. "We don't want to alert whoever is behind this," he said.

"They're not watching, are they ?," said Doyle. "There's no sign of that."

Bodie rather liked the idea of this action. "We would be exceptionally careful to leave no trace," he said, "and to replace everything exactly as we found it."

Somewhat reluctantly Cowley agreed to the plan.

It was Murphy, taking his turn at night-watch in the stake-out, who saw the two dark-clad figures creep up to the padlocked door opposite.

"The 'daring duo' on the job again," he said with a smile, "doing a bit of 'breaking and entering'. They'd make clever burglars." There was no-one else there with him, to hear him 'taking the mickey'. But the maligned pair would not have minded, for Murphy was a good friend to them both.

The padlock yielded quickly to Doyle's special keys, but he did it slowly and carefully, for he didn't want any scratches to show that it had been tampered with. They slipped quietly into the dark interior, and made their way, by the light of their torches to the row of crates, stacked at the far end of the warehouse. Doyle chose one at random, and slipping a small jemmy from his pocket, began gently to prise the lid off the crate. To give him both hands free, Bodie held both torches, concentrating their light on where his partner was working. But his excitement made him impatient.

"Get on with it, Ray," he said crossly. "You're as slow as a wet week !."

"I've got to be, you idiot," Doyle snapped back. "I mustn't damage the wood. I've got to put it back as I found it."

"Sorry," mumbled Bodie, realising the sense of this.

Doyle persevered with his careful efforts, and after a while it was done, and he lifted the lid off the crate, clean and undamaged. Bodie shone his torch down onto the contents of the crate, and was greatly surprised. He didn't quite know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't lots of little bubble-wrapped packets, nestled among piles of shredded paper packing.

He picked one up, and slid the protective sleeve off it. It revealed the model of a penguin with a scarf round its neck and a cheeky grin on its face. Doyle had also investigated one. His was a rather gaudily painted figure of a Beefeater. Together they slipped the wrappings back on to their finds, and reached for another item. Doyle's turned out to be a duck in a sailor suit, and Bodie's a rather corpulent rosy-cheeked 'bobby'. They exchanged puzzled looks, and investigated further, only to find other very similar items. Cute and attractive, though not particularly well-made, these figurines were the kind of ornaments to be found at fairs and markets, and in the cheaper department stores.

"I don't understand it," said Bodie in a very puzzled tone. "These aren't worth smuggling in !."

Doyle was busy picking up more of the items and examining them carefully. Choosing one he slipped it into his pocket. "Let's close this up carefully," he said, "and report to Cowley. See what he makes of it."

Because the lid had been opened with such meticulous care, it went back easily. No-one would guess it had been touched. They slipped out of the warehouse, replacing the padlock as they went. As it was so late, they both went home, arranging to be in early the next morning to give their report to their boss.

Before slipping into bed to grab what few hours of sleep he could, Doyle took the ornament he had selected from his pocket. He held it under the strong light of a table-lamp, and examined it closely Six or seven inches tall, it was a representation of a cheeky urchin boy, with a cute puppy sitting by his feet. He looked especially at the bright red scarf round the boy's neck. Then he turned it upside down to examine the base which was marked with a red cross.

What he saw satisfied him that his suspicions were correct !

He slipped it back into its protective cover and put it to one side. Tomorrow, or rather later today, he would take it in to Cowley, in the hope that he would also see what he had observed. He slid into the comfort of his bed and was asleep in moments.

Bodie, reporting to Cowley's office early next morning, was surprised to find that his partner had beaten him to it. As he knocked and entered he could see Doyle talking earnestly to their boss, and showing him one of the ornaments they had found.

"See here, sir," said Doyle, picking with his finger-nail at the red cross mark on the base of the figure. "This was added later, it's not under the glaze. And look at the red of the scarf round the boy's neck."

Cowley reached into a desk-drawer, and pulled out a large magnifying glass. He held the figurine under the strong light of his desk-lamp "Yes, I see what you mean," he said thoughtfully. "It's been repaired. The head has been broken off and very cleverly glued back."

Then, to Bodie's great astonishment, though not Doyle's, he took hold of the body part of the model, and tapped it hard on the edge of his desk !

"You've broken it !," exclaimed Bodie involuntarily, surprised at the odd action.

Indeed he had. He held the main part in his hand, while the head of the boy fell to the floor, and rolled away under the desk. Reaching into the drawer, Cowley exchanged the magnifying glass for a pair of tweezers. Putting the section he still held under the strong light, he pulled gently on the wisp of material, poking out of the broken neck, and gradually eased out a little twist of plastic film. As the light shone onto it, it sparkled with a fiery light. He smoothed it out and showed it to the watching pair.

"Diamonds !," exclaimed Bodie. "They're smuggling in diamonds."

Although rather stating the obvious, he was right. Revealed in the light were five or six brilliantly sparkling stones.

"These are quality stones," said Cowley, "worth thousands !"

"That's quite a racket," commented Doyle. "One or two like that salted away in each crate would hardly be noticed if the crates were opened for examination. The ordinary ones are not worth a lot, but those marked like this one, with a painted cross.! Phew !."

Cowley was thinking hard. "Now I wonder," he said, "Which of the villains we know could be up to handling a scheme like this ? I can only think of one or two who would fit the bill."

"There's Lauderman," suggested Doyle. "He seems to be in on everything dodgy that's going on, though we can't prove it as yet."

"What about Van Brieden ?," contributed Bodie. "He's from Amsterdam, isn't he ? And his front of an import/export business means he knows shipping."

"It's a waste of effort speculating," said Cowley firmly. "We'll find out for sure this evening, when we see who turns up to collect." But he thought he might arrange a discreet watch on one or two likely candidates all the same.

"You two," he ordered, "Take a break now, but report to the warehouse stake-out at 5 pm." The dismissed pair left the office together, and made their way down to collect their cars.

"Well," said Bodie cheerfully. "We've got a few hours spare time. What are you going to do with it ?."

"Me," replied Doyle with a grin, "I'm going home to get something to eat. Then I'm going to get my head down for a bit, to catch up on some missed sleep."

Bodie envied his partner's ability, gained while in the police force, to relax easily, and sleep anywhere, anytime. He, like many other people, found it difficult to nap in the daytime, even if there were lost hours to make up. They parted company then, but just before 5 o'clock found them both climbing the stairs to the warehouse stake-out room, having parked their cars neatly in side streets, out of sight, so as not to arouse suspicion.

Cowley was already there, along with a man Doyle recognised as a senior police officer, Inspector Milford. So Cowley had called the police in on this, had he ? Just as well, he thought to himself, for we don't know the strength of whoever is coming for the crates, and if Montalbi, with Mafia support, turns up too, there could be real trouble.

But he was puzzled. If Cowley had lined up a police detachment, where were they ? He'd seen no sign of them as he'd come in. He didn't dare ask his boss, who was in deep conversation with the inspector. So he sidled up to Murphy, and asked him.

"You should know," replied his friend with a smile. "Didn't you report one warehouse not in use ?"

"Oh, of course," said Doyle. "Clever."

At about 7.15, Cowley turned to Bodie and Doyle. "You two get down there," he ordered. "I need someone at ground level, to let me know what's happening. But keep out of sight. We don't wait to alert them, in case they take fright and withdraw. We want to catch them in the act of handling the crates." They pair nodded acknowledgement, understanding what was needed.

"Inspector Milford, here," he continued, "is ready to send his men in as soon as I give the word. So leave it to them to round up the villains. No 'one-man-band' heroics, please."

The pair left quickly, and hurried down the stairs. They would have to play this one very much by ear. Still as it was late in the year, and a cloudy night, they would have the cover of darkness on their side. They positioned themselves round the corner of the warehouse, so that they could see and hear who arrived at its doors.

At about 7.15 they heard the sound of approaching vehicles. They ducked back into shelter, so that the headlights wouldn't reveal their presence. As soon as the vehicles had passed, they peered round the corner again.

A large lorry had drawn up to the warehouse doors, followed by a big grey car. A man hopped out of the car, and moved forward to unlock the padlock. He pushed back the tall sliding doors which moved easily on well-oiled runners, and the two vehicles went inside. Their headlights lit up the dark interior before the doors were eased back into place.

Up in the stake-out, strong glasses were trained on the action. Cowley took the car licence number, and called it in to be checked. The reply came back swiftly.

"The car belongs to Van Brieden," he informed Inspector Milford.

"And the chap with the padlock key was Albert Foster," contributed the police officer.

"Alias Rowse," said Cowley in a satisfied tone. He quickly relayed all this information to Bodie and Doyle.

"I was right," Bodie whispered smugly to his partner.

But Doyle was busy thinking out possible courses of action. "It was dark in there," he said, "and if you see those skylights near the roof, it looks as they haven't put the lights on. Those doors moved easily, and without a sound. Do you think we could sneak in un-noticed ?."

"Let's give it a go, said Bodie, always eager for action.

They crept up to the door, which they found to be a few inches ajar. Bodie stealthily eased it a few more inches until he could just get through. Doyle, being of slighter build, followed him in easily, and together they eased the door shut again. Flattening themselves against the wall, they moved round into the darkest shadowed corner. They were both holding their breath, but no challenge came. So it seemed that their entry had not been detected.

All the action was at the far end of the huge space, where, as they had discovered the night before, all the crates were stacked. The fork-lift, left there after the last delivery, was starting to shift the crates into the lorry, by the light of both vehicles' headlights, and a couple of well-aimed powerful torches. Apart from the pool of light where all the activity was going on, the rest of the area was in complete darkness, so the daring pair of would-be spies eased themselves round, sticking close to the wall, until they were a lot closer to the busy scene.

Knowing that Cowley would have seen the arrivals, and would decide when to send in the police, they crouched down in the dark, to watch and wait.

But the interruption, when it came, was not what they expected !

Suddenly the big doors slid back, allowing the glare of headlights to shine into the dark interior. Two vehicles swept in, a large lorry and a big black car that, to the watching pair, was instantly familiar.

Montalbi had arrived !

His car and the lorry swept up the length of the warehouse, and stopped with their headlights focussed on the scene. A group of men emerged from the back of the lorry, and all were heavily armed.

Montalbi climbed out of the car, helped by his chauffeur, who instantly handed him an automatic rifle. Pointing this upwards, he loosed a rapid burst of fire towards the roof. There was a loud explosion of noise as bullets 'pinged' off the steel girders and shot in all directions !

Van Brieden and his men were momentarily stunned by the unexpected invasion. Then, re-acting quickly, they all shot for cover behind their vehicles.

Bodie and Doyle instinctively threw themselves flat behind the crates.

Still brandishing the weapon, Montalbi let out a stentorian bellow. "Van Brieden," he yelled. "I know what's in those crates, and I want them. Now is it going to be the easy way or the hard way ?"

It would have been a very unequal battle, for only a couple of Van Brieden's men were armed, and then only with hand guns, while Montalbi, in true Mafia style, had come with a small but fearsome army !

But, of course, Cowley and Inspector Milford had seen the second lot of arrivals. And when they heard the burst of gunfire they were spurred into action. Orders were swiftly given and put into effect.

The main doors had been left open. In swarmed a large contingent of police, clad in riot gear, and armed, - a formidable sight !

One of them, who knew where to find it, went straight to the light switch, and snapped it on. The overhead lights came on instantly, illuminating the whole scene.

Startled faces turned to see the advancing blue line. One of Montalbi's men, pretty stupidly, dared to loose off a shot in their direction, fortunately poorly aimed. His weapon was immediately knocked from his hand by the accurate shot from a police marksman, and he yelped in pain.

But, caught in the act, and hopelessly out-numbered, and with their only escape route cut off, both gangs had little option but to surrender.

And so, what could have been a very nasty incident, with severe casualties, was averted.

Cowley and Milford were close behind their forces, issuing swift orders. Men were quickly disarmed, their weapons seized and safely removed, and then they were arrested and taken into custody.

Bodie and Doyle emerged from their hiding place, and joined their boss. They watched with interest as the police effectively collected and removed all the members of both gangs. Keys were collected from all the vehicles, which were left where they were, to be dealt with later.

An armed watch was set in place to guard the crates until their removal could be arranged.

When all was in order, Cowley and Inspector Milford walked back towards the warehouse doors, both well satisfied with the evening's work.

"A great success, I think," said Cowley, "Two nasty groups removed from the scene, and not one of our men sustained an injury."

"Not true, I was injured," came a plaintive voice from behind them.

"What ?," exclaimed Doyle, swinging back to look anxiously at his partner. Had he been caught by one of the ricochets which had been flying about when Montalbi had fired so recklessly?

But Bodie, with a silly grin on his face, was holding up one finger. "I've got a splinter," he said mournfully.

This earned him a fierce glare from his boss, who had little patience with Bodie's quirky sense of humour.

"Idiot," chided Doyle, giving his partner a playful push, as his rich chuckle echoed round the warehouse.


End file.
